Shadow, shadow
by OzZ Cometh
Summary: A fanfiction that exhibits the resulting chaos when Chief Edwin VanCleef assigns one of his more peculiar agents to cut the Defias Brotherhood's ties with the RiverHide Gnoll clan.
1. Chapter 1

"I jump into my rocket 'cause I'm ready to blast!  
I don't know where I'm goin', but I'm goin' there fast!  
Don't know if there ain't a future, but there isn't a past!  
Make it like the first time, so it won't be the last!  
All I wanna' do is everything that you ask!  
Don't ya' know I'm really getting' in the mood!  
Got the jitter fingers and their ready to POP!  
Baby, when we get there then the JOINT'S GONNA HOP!  
Got the right feelin', baby, straight to the top!  
Girl, you make my heart start beatin', flippity-flopp!  
Baby, can't you tell I'm getting' in the mood!  
>In the mood!  
The joint is jumpin!  
>In the groove!  
We're on to somethin!  
>In the mood!  
The band is pumpin!  
SWINGIN' AND A-SWAYIN', AND ROCK N' ROLLIN!  
>Come on, now!  
We're gonna party!  
I> know how!  
Yeeeeah, to get it started!  
>In the mood!  
I'm good to boogey!  
PLAY THAT JIVIN' MUSIC, NOW!" 

"Shadow, shadow"  
-Instalment one

"RESULTS!" Chief Edwin VanCleef's voice rung across the depths of his underground ship-dock, it's hollow interior donating to an already impressive acoustic ability that left his disciples and, among everything else, a raid commander shot for a reply. That accounted, he continued, "I demanded RESULTS at Sentinel Hill, and what do I receive? FAILURE! Explain this!"

The aforementioned commander, a numerous high-ranking trustee by the name of Wyvern, rose to the occasion of this demand, as only 'he' could. "Sir, our siege on Sentinel Hill was going 'fine', right up until..." He would not receive the opportunity to continue before Edwin snapped, "Until those damned, filthy Gnolls showed their rotten, ungrateful faces, am I correct?"

Wyvern paused, anxiety taking a nasty hold on his tongue. However, when his superior begun to drum his fingers against the arm of his chair in impatience, he quickly started up, "Yessir, but after speculating this loss, I've developed a plan to..."

"How many times have I heard that, Wyvern?" A thick silence ensued. "How many times have I heard that and seen a LIKEWISE outcome? You've made me so VERY disappointed that I actually entrusted YOU with the duty of being my right-hand man."

No one present dared to remind Edwin that he had a multitude of 'right-hand men' which reached such extents that they practically outnumbered any other rank within the Defias Brotherhood.  
This leader's sheer power and bearing, however, did not hold every mouth within the dock shut, as he would soon discover.

"Come now, Chief. Is there a call for such words? Twas' you, after all, that decided to cut ties with the River-Hide Gnolls..." A cheerful, feminine voice permeated from seemingly nowhere within the massive chamber. Though it caused most others present to begin looking for a possible source, Edwin had no such reaction.

He knew this voice well. All too 'painfully' well.

Though the owner of it held a rank within the Brotherhood that bore no 'real' significance, such as a raid commander, or a negotiator, it granted her much distinction. Aside from being a lethal Knuckle-duster, she was assigned to learn things.

MANY things.

Primarily about potential threats to the Brotherhood. But half despite, and half due to this, she was sparsely seen within the headquarters, and her very existence would slip the chief's mind for months at a time. BUT, sometimes she would simply 'materialize' like this, with something to say. Mostly trivial. Sometimes useful. But ALWAYS aggravating.

"Milyn! Show yourself at ONCE!" He nearly bellowed.

"Oh, come now, Chief, couldn't you just play along for 'once', and act as though I am a force to be reckoned with?" The voice protested, making a sheer 'fool' of the Chief in front of his more impressionable crowd. He scowled as a vein popped on his forehead.

"Just get in here, I'm 'hardly' in the mood for your little games..." Though a threatening tone sparsely made matters with Milyn easier, in this case it seemed to do the trick. From the rear of Edwin's chair, there appeared a girl, not capable of surpassing five-foot five. A cascade of long brunette hair that crowned her head was pulled back into a rather jaunty pony-tail, which loosed only a set of sharp bangs that barely prevailed past her brow. Past this, a red leather scarf veiled every facial detail, save a pair of narrow, dark brown eyes.

"As you wish." She replied after creating some distance between herself and him. "You should 'really' read up on standard Human psychology sometime, Edwin. I find that it applies to practically 'every' race in Azeroth"

Edwin stopped himself before asking just what 'that' was supposed to imply. Somehow, he felt it would only confuse him more. 'This' was Milyn, and to say she was simply 'intriguing' was a daft understatement. She was the sort of individual whose looks were surpassed 'only' by her intelligence, and she was INCREDIBALLY intelligent. Either due to that, or simply fate, Edwin played his cards right, and assigned her to be the Brotherhood's central intelligence agent.

"I sent you to Dun Morgouh. Correct?"

"Precisely."

"A two month leave, shorter than most of your 'other' assignments. What information have you gathered over such a brief time?"

"Well..." She inhaled nosily, "ABSOLOUTLEY nothing." Edwin almost choked on his own tongue. "WHAT?"

She inhaled once more. "You ordered me to travel to Dun Morgouh as to learn of the Dwarves, their profficiencies, and how they contributed to the Alliance as a whole. SO, I ventured to a city called IronForge, as my studies showed that it held one of Azeroth's best blacksmiths, and a massively stocked Auction House. As a result, I managed to acquire several engineered products such as guns, and E-Z throw dynamite for study..." Milyn produced one of both instruments mentioned from, seemingly enough, her sleeve.

"I don't believe I have to explain how either of these things operate, however I learned that both have to be supplied and manufactured to a 'very' precise grade in order to be effective, and taking control of such facilities would attract widescale attention capable of shutting us down. So, that discovery was a waste of time. I looked into their machines used for militaristic purposes, and learned the full gauge of their lethality; however they necessitate such a massive number of people to properly operate and maintain, that without a generous swelling of our current numbers, it would be near to 'impossible'. With everything I learned accounted, I conclude that the Alliance is 'far' too large and multifaceted to simply 'attack', and trying such would be an utter waste of time that would result in utter failure."

"WHAT?" Came a near unison query from both Edwin and Wyvern. "My study reveals that even by a sheer miracle, if we 'did' manage to procure anything 'major' from Dun Morgouh, it wouldn't be worth much to us." She paraphrased.

"...Oh." Edwin picked up, "Well, then, if that is all, I shall give you a 'new' assignment."

"Well, in truth..." Milyn interrupted, "I'm here to make a request of my own, Chief."

A sigh emanated from behind the Chief's mask. "Fine..."

"I wish for you to allow me to attempt taking these pesky Gnolls you speak of down, myself. I have developed a plan based on the many, MANY failures of good ole' Wyvern, here..." She gestured toward the officer, who scowled.

"Very well." Edwin stated with finality. "You may try your hand at confronting theRiver-Hide Gnolls, but you will do so with 'no' assistance from the Brotherhood, and I don't want you interfering with any of Wyvern's plans"  
"Your wish is my command, Chief." Milyn smirked, bowed politely, and vanished into the prevailing shadows. Shortly thereafter, Edwin gazed at the space she once occupied. "That girl disturbs me..." He broke the silence. Wyvern quickly nodded in agreement.

For one whom didn't call the Defias Brotherhood's base of operations, the Deadmines, home, it was not so unbelievable for he or she to quickly become lost amidst its maze-like architechture. From the dawn of its creation, the massive underground labrynth had never been graced with natural light, and was being consistently added on to. Chief Edwin VanCleef was well known for implementing virtually useless orders, and the perpetual expansion of his base was just one of many.

Milyn's chamber/lab, however, was a shining beacon for the new recruit, or reckless miner that would neglect attention to their locale. With the entrance nestled in the corner of a choice T-junction that connected the mining and industrial quarters, it wasn't difficult to miss. But just in case, a complementary 'welcome' matt was placed at the foot of the heavy oak door, and to the sides a set of torches kept the general area constantly illuminated.

In contrast to the heavy darkness that enveloped most of the Deadmines, Milyn's bright, almost 'cheery' quarters housed all sorts of gadgets and gizmos that she had gained on her journeys. Directly greeting the entrance was a solid wall of weaponry, divided into neatly organized columns of guns, blades, polearms, etc.  
Some came from the city of Stormwind, less than a mile and a half away, whereas others descended from seperate species, cultures, and barbaric wastelands halfway across the world.

To one corner of the room stood a landstrider. The unordinarily large, avian-esque construction was rendered still; its power supply cut and extracted to ensure no problems encurred whilst being worked on.

Kneeling behind it was Milyn's only known servant. A Night-elf named Devlin whom was recruited into a less than dangerous lifestyle by the rogue herself, on one of her more seldom inter-continental assignments. The altmer scowled as she attempted to loosen a bolt from the landstrider's leg, only to have the head of her wrench slip off--For being a technologically intuitive race, the Dwarves seemed to have a penchant for making their tools uselessly complicated. But, regardless of this, Devlin resisted the urge to adopt a more 'brute force solution' frame of mind by beating the strider till it collapsed inward, and begun negotiating with the bolt anew.

"Quickly, Devvie!" Milyn's voice rung across her lab as she burst through the door, holding her fist outward triumphantly. Devlin startled, and smacked her head on the landstrider's underside.

"Quickly 'what'?" She asked whilst rubbing her head gingerly.

"This...steam-driven contraption..." She laid a hand upon the strider's head, "must be re-structured to 'comfortably' accomodate a human being...BY THE END OF TONIGHT!"

Devlin produced something that sound vaguely like a disdainful snort.

"With a deadline like 'that', you're going to have to help out. And, this wrench..." She presented the instrument to Milyn, "Is 'impossible'! I can't get a grip with it at all!"

Milyn eyed it suspicously. "Lemme see that." then snatched it up. Turning it on its side, she examined closer, and proceeded to bop Devlin harmlessly over the head with it.

"Devvie, you doofus, this is no wrench!" Rubbing her head for the second time, Devlin's brow arched responsively. "This is a beat up enchanting rod"

"...Oohhh. Buy you're not an enchanter..."

"I know that." Milyn held it up slightly, "I 'borrowed' it from a Warlock and tested its arodynamic quality in high crosswinds. 'Just' to see if it could be used as a projectile"  
The Night-elf allowed a thin smile to cross her lips, "...And the result was...?"

"Well, it wasn't so great for 'that', but it made an 'excellent' lightning rod." Now, a chuckle escaped. "So" She said after it subsided, "does this have anything to do with your presentation to the Chief?" Had Milyn not wore her bandanna, Devlin would have seen a victorius ear-to-ear beam cross her face. "Didn't even ask what I what I had in mind, he just said yes"  
"Really?"

"I wouldn't lie. Now, TO THE LANDSTRIDER!" Milyn approached the big mechanical bird, and immediately begun tinkering with its head. "We've much work to do tonight, Devvie!"

I GOT ALL MY BEST THREADS AND MY FAVORITE SHOES!  
NOW IT'S MY TIME TO PLAY GOT NO LOVE FOR THE BLUES!  
UNDERSTAND WHAT I'M SAYIN' OH YOU BETTER GET BACK!  
GOT NO TIME TO WASTE 'CAUSE I'M ONE HIP CAT!  
AND WHEN I START A WORKIN I CRUISE LIKE DYNAFLOW!  
AND WHEN I'M IN THE MOOD I SPREAD IT ALL AROUND!  
I MIGHT BE THE MAN ONE HIP PARTY ON THE RUN!  
AND WHEN YOU SEE ME COMING JUST CALL ME BIG KING FUN!

"And when the party's over, I just know where to go!  
Where the after-hours people boogey, you know!  
I wanna' hang awhile where the light's really low!  
I whisper to my baby, and we're takin' it slow!  
And baby, if you're ready, then I'm ready to BLOW!  
Baby, know I'm really gettin' in the mood!  
In the mood!  
The joint is jumpin!  
In the groove!  
We're on to somethin!  
In the mood!  
The band is pumpin!  
SWINGIN' AND A-SWAYIN'AND ROCK N'ROLLIN!  
Come on, now!  
We're gonna' party!  
I know how!  
Yeeeeah, to get it started!  
In the mood!  
I'm good to boogey!  
PLAY THE JIVIN' MUSIC, NOW!"


	2. Chapter 2

"I jump into my rocket 'cause I'm ready to blast!

I don't know where I'm goin', but I'm goin' there fast!

Don't know if there ain't a future, but there isn't a past!

Make it like the first time, so it won't be the last!

All I wanna' do is everything that you ask!

Don't ya' know I'm really getting' in the mood!

Got the jitter fingers and their ready to POP!

Baby, when we get there then the JOINT'S GONNA HOP!

Got the right feelin', baby, straight to the top!

Girl, you make my heart start beatin', flippity-flopp!

Baby, can't you tell I'm getting' in the mood!

>In the mood!

The joint is jumpin'!

>In the groove!

We're on to somethin'!

>In the mood!

The band is pumpin!

SWINGIN' AND A-SWAYIN', AND ROCK N' ROLLIN'!

>Come on, now!

We're gonna party!

>I know how!

Yeeeeah, to get it started!

>In the mood!

I'm good to boogey!

PLAY THAT JIVIN' MUSIC, NOW!"

"Shadow, shadow"

Installment two

Milyn gazed quizzically at the indigo schematic that lay before her.

Upon it, in scribbled white ink, was a landstrider, each individual part that conspired to complete it marked and outlined.

Grabbing it from the table it rested upon, Milyn held it out, studied a moment more, then lowered as to see the actual project that stood before her. Devlin, dirtied in oil and various sorts of lubricants, stood beside the goofy looking machine, a hand rested on its base.

"Mmmkay, so we've put spacers in the legs to help it hold up the extra weight, right, Devvie?"

She asked suddenly, returning her gaze back to the blueprints.

In response, Devlin knelt down toward its legs and gave them a once over.

"Yup." She answered, prodding the said part with a screwdriver.

"And we've added extra hydraulics to give it a lil' more giddyup?"

"Sure did."

"And the body? There was a lot of modification that needed to be done _there_..."

"Well, the engine's been compressed and relocated to a space between the legs, rather than directly underneath the driver's area. The base as whole has been extended outward to four feet, rather than three and a half, AND, a back has been added to the seat, behind which we put the exhaust pipes...looks pretty good to me."

"What about the eyes? The bulbs that were in there before were pretty dull..." In response to Milyn's next question, a spectacle of vividly bright light hit her directly in the face, causing her to nearly topple over backward.

"...okay..." She picked up after regaining her composure.

"That made the grade, once you count out my burnt retinal cells."

"So...you think it's safe to get on?"

Milyn laughed at her servant's question.

"Safe to get on? Devvie, I'll have you know that before I picked you up in Shadowglen, I made a profession out of taming the 'wildest' steeds!"

Devlin's face exhibited intrigue. "Really?"

"Nope." Milyn hopped on the seat and crossed her legs. "Not really, I lied. You know, you _worry_ me sometimes, Devvie. For all I've read and experienced, Night elves are supposed to be the wise, mysterious species of the Alliance...an enigma to humans..." She trailed to focus a more intent stare into the Altmer's pupiless eyes.

"I wonder…" The two words came with much more labor, "…if all of the time you've spent around me may have made you a little bit…_special._"

and she finished on a light-hearted, if not stupid, note.

Rather than come to her defense, Devlin giggled. She had been around Milyn for some number of years, and never once in that time could recall seeing her act in any manner _other_ than this.

Primarily because of that, she had little trouble admitting her own personality was bent quite a bit from that of the common Night elf.

And in the long run, she was content with exchanging a life sustained off battle that so many others were having to lead, for being the servant of a syndicate operative. None too savory from an unspecified standpoint, but her time with Milyn's prodigious mind granted her a unique character of her own, and allowed the time and dedication necessary to become a master of many different professions; engineering, alchemy, herbalism, and crafting just to name a few.

Yes, that, Devlin concluded, was _far_ better than being a luckless Night elf warrior, one of many, caught in a detestable, meaningless struggle with the Horde.

"Well..." Milyn's voice caused her to lift her head.

"Think we should get Cocoa to give her a little test-run? Just to make sure it's safe..."

Devlin relented--poor Cocoa.

The Deadmines was, in essence, a pure subculture of Westfall, and sure as that was, there were numerous people living within whom were charged with nothing more than the duty of keeping the chambers tidy.

Cocoa was the housemaid for Milyn's chamber—

"He's gay as a pigeon bath." Devlin recalled Milyn declaring, "But he's an okay petunia, I like him."

The rogue was not inaccurate in her statement--from the moment the two met, she took a prompt liking to Cocoa, which subsequently qualified him for a vast array of test runs, crack-pot experiments and other bizarre trials, most of which he reluctantly agreed to, and almost ALWAYS endured a bad result.

Devlin recalled the last favor Milyn had asked Cocoa to partake in--sampling a potion the two of them created that, in theory, was capable of putting its applicant into a deep trance of sleep for days.

Instead, he got a strange, severe case of the trots, and didn't emerge from his room for full weeks.

"...Are you sure he'd do it?" Came a doubtful reply.

"Why wouldn't he?"

Milyn quickly cued into the look she was given, and picked back up, "Oh, I'm sure he's forgotten all _about _that little mis-trial. Besides, he's practically like a brother to us..." Her words trailed at that thought.

"...Our very, very gay brother."

"Maybe you should say sister?"

"Yes, sister, thank you. He has a moral obligation to us, just as we have with him. But I need a vote, here, Devvie, so c'mon, out with it!"

Devlin responded with a light shrug of her shoulders.

"If it's what you want to do, sure."

"Alright!" Milyn spun on her heel, and started toward the door.

"Then let's fetch our guinea pi--assistant, and get this show on the road!"

"Absolutely _not_."

Cocoa stood before a thick black cauldron, with one hand on his hip, and the other loosely grasped to a wooden spoon, which he stirred about in the cauldron's contents in a less than vigorous manner.

Wearing a silk night robe and a golden anklet, he hit the bull's-eye on that which Milyn described him as.

The rogue's shoulders slumped forward after his response.

"This is because of that potion thing, isn't it?" She guessed.

The dark skinned maid stopped stirring altogether and let the spoon dip into the cauldron.

"You know it's more than just that, stretch." His fingers raised as he begun to count off all of the less than desirable things Milyn had put him through, "First, there was that 'Accelerating the human thought process through assimilating magnetic polarities' thing you insisted on dragging my Pappy into..."

"Oh, come ON, I needed more than one person to correctly conduct that experiment, and your dad was more than happy to oblige! Besides, I got all of the bad things that encurred from it fixed."

"Tell that to my Pappy." Cocoa grated without missing a beat.

"He's still looking for a surgeon that can get his wedding band out of his forehead. THEN, there was the 'mind-reading with sound-waves passing through a dense gas' crack that singed my hair right down to the roots! I looked like Buckwheat for the a month!"

"Hey, now you can't blame me for that flop, it was more than logical. Trepanning was considered a pseudo-science because people 'insisted' on trying to do it with a chisel while the subject was asleep. Sound-waves need a medium to travel through, and they're received by vibrations in the ear. How was 'I' to know that when I used the megaphone to produce a wave that the nitrogen serving as a medium would...combust..."

Milyn protested once more, prompting an exasperated sigh from Cocoa.

"My point is every time I let you drag me into one of these goofy experiments, 'I' get the short-end of the stick when they go belly-up, and end up getting mauled, or caught on fire, or just 'blown up'. I'm sorry, sweetie, but I just can't do it anymore."

Finally, the rogue hung her head in defeat, allowing Cocoa to resume his stirring, though the exchange was carried further by Devlin's off-topic query, "What're you cooking, Cocoa?"

"Oh, the sauce for an old recipe that the girls in my family have passed down from generation to generation."

He answered without averting from his work.

The altmer leaned forward and wafted the scent to her nostrils.

"It smells delectable."

"Are you kidding? It's to die for. The sauce alone takes two hours to properly simmer, but you know how hungry the boys get after a day of pillaging and raping."

"Hey, Cocoa, tell y'what…" Milyn shoved herself into the conversation, "You help me just this one _last _time, and I'll introduce you to some of the guys that work the industrial quarter."

A promising wink followed, "They sweat like pigs and never wear shirts!"

Cocoa raised a hand to his chest and donned a vaguely insulted look.

"Girl, you think I couldn't get a man all by myself down in this dump?"

He turned around and continued stirring.

"With all of that 'Jolly Roger' stuff going on in the chief's ship-docks, this place's like a Pride Parade marching through the tunnels _everyday_."

Milyn balled a fist then ran it into her other hand.

"DRAT it!" and proceeded to retreat to her chamber, but was sure to remark in a more than audible voice, "I officially disown you as my brother, Cocoa!"

Cocoa held little reaction, but Devlin called after her, "You mean sister?"

"Sister…_whatever!_"

Now, the maid decided to make his move.

"You're still coming to my Pappy's dinner party, Sunday, right?"

Milyn froze in her spot. After a long pause, there came a frail, "…Yes." Followed by the slam of a door.

"Woow…" Devlin said sheepishly after things settled down to some degree.

"That might be the closest I've ever seen her come to upset."

"Ah." Cocoa waved her remark away.

"You know Milyn, she couldn't take a heart attack seriously. She'll get over it in about twenty minutes, guaranteed."

"Yeah, you're probably right…" She nodded. "But I should get back to her side…if she's going to try riding that strider, she'll probably need some first aid on standby."

"Good idea, sweetheart. That girl'd be a mess without you."

Rather than verbally thank the maid for his compliment, Devlin leaned forward, pecked him on the cheek, and retreated to Milyn's chamber door.

Less than three feet from her destination, she was greeted by a series of noises. The acute hearing she was blessed with dubbed them as the sounds of a running machine.

The occasional release of exhaust, a dull, whirring hum, and over everything else, a constant _thump_, as though something were hitting the ground in precise five second intervals…

Devlin stepped away from the door, having an unusual boding feeling about the next events, and sure as she predicted them, they fell into place.

The heavy door bulged outward quite suddenly, then burst off the hinges. It would gain an impressive gauge of velocity before smashing into the wall directly across from the chamber entranceway.

Devlin stumbled backward and fell onto her butt when the landstrider shortly followed along the same path, Milyn straddled upon the base.

A pair of built-in straps on the sides of the neck were the only things keeping her even remotely attached.

"CLEAR A PATH, DEVVIE!" Her voice prevailed amongst the explosion of distracting racket as the strider threw both legs forward and rebounded off the wall.

Devlin's natural reflexes didn't fail her as she scrambled out of the way sheer seconds before the machine landed on the space she once occupied with a booming _THUD!_

Rather than recoil or slow in the slightest bit, the strider mindlessly whirled around and tore off, further into the cavernous corridor.

"Uh…oh…" The words hardly surpassed a whisper as Devlin climbed to her feet. One quick gaze over her shoulder was all it took to see the crowd that had gathered behind her.

Ignoring their jumbled mass of awed remarks and queries, she begun pursuit with as much speed as she could muster.

The corridor ended in a sloppy three-way fork, not including the way from which she had come.

Devlin ventured into the center of the room and looked quizzically down the middle passage. She saw nothing that indicated the strider's presence; no prints on the ground or traces of exhaust.

Just as she was preparing to look into her other two options, the faulty mount's symphony of operation hit her ears anew.

She looked up to see her quarry headed straight for her.

A yelp of surprise escaped her as she spun on her heel and dove back into the center of the fork.

A moment later, a pair of big, clawed, iron feet thudded by, then proceeded past her.

Knowing this was her best opportunity, Devlin recovered to her feet and took off in a dead sprint for the steam-driven terror.

Two feet shy of its rear, she decided to attempt contact.

"MILYN, SHUT IT OFF! THE CHIEF'S GONNA' KILL US IF HE CATCHES WIND OF THIS!"

"I DUNNO' HOW!" Came a prompt reply.

"_WHAT?" _Devlin felt her voice go shrill. "YOU MEAN WE SPENT ALL THAT TIME MODIFYING THIS STUPID THING AND FORGOT TO CHECK THE BRAKES?"

Milyn smirked behind her mask; her servant wasn't even in any sort of danger, and she sounded more panicked at the moment.

This wasn't to say that she, herself wasn't scared crapless, but for all of her bluster of nonchalance and only accepting protocol when the goings got rough, she wasn't _about _to let it show.

And that subsequently caused her logical, no nonsense style of frame of mind that she rarely implemented to try its hand at the predicament.

This was a bi-ped machine, nothing like a tank.

Tanks have pads that primarily serve as the brakes, because they're on treads. Therefore it was logical to assume that there would be some _other _sort of simple machine on a landstrider that would kill the hydraulics, or stop some cog from turning, or _something!_

"Gah!" Milyn spat as she struggled to stay put on the base.

"DEVVIE, WHERE ARE WE GOING?"

The answer, as misfortune would continue to behold, wasn't on the list of things she wanted to hear- -"THE KITCHEN!"

Beads of sweat begun to break out on the sides of her head.

This plan was going rotten, and fast.

Meanwhile in a corridor not too far from Milyn's locale, someone _else's _plans for the evening had already gone pretty damned bitter, and were rapidly getting worse.

A door that led into a section of the industrial quarter swung outward.

Behind it, Chief Edwin VanCleef rose his foot to proceed past the threshold, but stopped abruptly.

"I beg your pardon, my Liege." He bowed his head politely and stepped back, allowing a middle-aged woman that donned an orange bandanna upon her face to step through the doorway first.

"I would appreciate it, Edwin…" The woman begun as she traipsed into the hallway, "If you _didn't _call me 'Liege'. We, The Syndicate have not officially touched base on whether or not we will welcome your little…gang into our arms and I have to be honest, after having this tour of your headquarters, I harbor some doubts…"

Edwin winced inwardly at the last half of this remark, feeling his best efforts unravel.

For the past few years he had been doing everything within his power to convince The Syndicate, another primarily human-based Cartel, to collaborate their numbers with that of the Brotherhood.

Most every letter he sent outlining his pleas were either never replied to, or sent back with "RETURN TO SENDER" scrawled across the front (One such subject had a hand with a risen middle finger doodled underneath).

BUT finally two weeks ago, the Chief's prayers had been answered when the Courier whom operated for the Brotherhood delivered a letter marked for him.

In it the President of The Syndicate announced that he was planning to expand into Westfall, and now may have been a beneficial time to join forces.

Whatever joy Edwin felt at reading that paragraph was quickly dashed when his eyes met with the next sentence. Much smaller in size, it read that before anything could be finalized, one of their officers would be dispatched to conduct an inspection of the Deadmines, and its residents, as to ensure that this venture wouldn't wind up being a flop.

Now, here it was. Two weeks later, and the 'Officer', an over-the-hill Battle axe that had been born and raised in Dun Morgouh, was proving to be more than he could stand.

The tour that he and three of his most trusted 'right-hand men' prepared had completely failed to bring even one compliment or positive remark to light from the old woman's lips, and she carried with her the most unimpressionable look Edwin could ever remember seeing.

Indeed, his hopes were unraveling, like a cheap, unraveling…_thing_.

"Well, I'm sure you will be glad to know, Madame…" He tried once more while leading her down the corridor, "that we've just recently cut our ties with those brutish River-Hide Gnolls, and I have my central intelligence agent working tenaciously to…_finish _the matter, for good."

"I would be." She replied coldly. "But after seeing your industrial quarter, I'm afraid it doesn't move me."

Edwin stopped dead in his tracks.

"Ex…_Excuse_ me?"

The shock of this particular barb proved too much for his 'content' disguise. The massive Industrial Quarter of the Deadmines was, as far as he could figure, his best bet of impressing this old biddy.

She stopped to face him, and arched an eyebrow.

"Goblins, Edwin?" Her tone carried a hint of disdain.

"Honestly, do you _insist_ on welcoming every backwater, freeloading _snake _of a species into your number? Don't you have any _standards _at all?"

"I…I…"

She shook her head at Edwin's response.

"No, after seeing this _dump_, I suppose I shouldn't expect too much from you. The Defias Brotherhood is little more than a joke from what I've seen here, today. I will, however, tell you of this place's one redeeming quality…"

The Chief's heart skipped a beat as the word came out, "Please..."

"The Kitchen."

And it just as quickly sunk like a brick.

"Would you mind leading me back there? I find your little cook quite humorous."

A deep sigh dispersed as he replied, "As you wish, Madame…"

"Back so soon, Devlin?" Cocoa turned from his kettle to greet the winded Altmer, whom had just arrived at the foot of the yawning entranceway.

"No…" She huffed, "No time for small talk, Cocoa, we've got to clear the kitchen!"

The maid let his spoon fall into the cauldron and rushed to Devlin's side as she collapsed to her knees.

"Sweetie, you looked _exhausted_, what happened?"

"Milyn…strider…_coming this way!_"

Before Cocoa could ask what the Hell she was talking about, the very subject of his question made its appearance, halfway down the hall.

"What…the _blazes?_"

…It was at this inevitable moment that Edwin VanCleef and his special 'guest' made their entrance into the kitchen, through another frameway at the other end of the room.

When Devlin caught sight of them, she realized the hopelessness of the situation.

Rather than attempt any sort of warning, the words "Oh, _shit_!" emerged as she grabbed Cocoa and dove to the ground for cover.

Edwin, for his part, was completely oblivious to the disaster that was on the verge of striking the kitchen, till the familiar voice of his central intelligence agent projected out, "GAIN WAY, CHIEF!"

The sight that greeted him when he looked up held the distinction of the most horrifying shock of his life.

What he could only have described as a big, mechanical ostrich shot into the kitchen, and bounded over a counter, subsequently setting it on a direct collision course for him.

This was simply too much for the Chief, and was proven when he threw his arms over his head, dropped into a crouch and let loose a scream that _mirrored _that of a small girl. (He would later come to pin it on Cocoa whom, for his own safety, never disclosed the truth)

"AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!" Edwin's shriek pierced every ear present, even after Milyn located the brake lever and hastily jerked back on it.

He would not return to an upright position till the machine's operation was completely killed.

Even so, he was shot for a remark, or a demand to know what was going on, or even an attempt to _look _like he wasn't phased.

All the Chief could do was stare in awe at that which had very nearly claimed his life.

…And this bearing was wholesomely shared around the kitchen, save one person in particular.

"Uh…Hey, Chief!" Milyn greeted in a cheerful, yet unsteady voice.

"You'll never guess what I've accomplished on this fine evening!"

"What…is the MEANING OF THIS?" The Syndicate officer cut in with a bellow loud enough to wake the dead.

"YOU!" Her finger pointed toward Milyn. "Who the Hell are you?"

"Wa?" The rogue asked innocently while putting a hand to her chest.

She failed to see Edwin's hectic gesturing to say nothing before replying, "My name's Milyn, and I'm the central intelligence agent for the Defias Brotherhood, but who are _you_, and why does my boss look so afraid of you?"

Rather than answer, the Officer repeated, "Central intelligence agent…"

Then rounded on Edwin.

"THIS is the person you assigned to deal with the River-Hide Gnolls?"  
"OH, well you know what they say, Madame…" Edwin quickly straightened himself up, "variety is the spice of life, and those who seem rather, uh…_impulsive_ tend to get the job done rather effectively. I'm sure when it comes to something as detestably unsophisticated as _Gnolls_, standard operating procedure isn't all _that_…"

"Uhm, Milyn?" Devlin whispered while approaching the strider's side.

"I think we might've gotten caught up in something _big_, here…"

"I agree."

"Perhaps we should leave?"

Milyn gulped as the Officer begun to cut Edwin down, mid-sentence.

"You're readin' me like a book, Devvie. Let's get Cocoa and jet."

Edwin nor the Officer managed to avert their attention from each other for even a second.

Had they done so, they would have caught Devlin, Milyn and Cocoa silently fleeing the scene.

I GOT ALL MY BEST THREADS AND MY FAVORITE SHOES!

NOW IT'S MY TIME TO PLAY, GOT NO LOVE FOR THE BLUES!

UNDERSTAND WHAT I'M SAYIN', OH YA' BETTER GET BACK! GOT NO TIME TO WASTE, 'CAUSE I'M ONE HIP CAT!

AND WHEN I START WORKIN', I CRUISE LIKE DYNAFLOW!

AND WHEN I'M IN THE MOOD I SPREAD IT ALL AROUND!

I MIGHT BE THE MAN ONE HIP PARTY ON THE RUN!

AND WHEN YA' SEE ME COMIN', JUST CALL ME BIG KING FUN!

"And when the party's over, I just know where to go!

Where the after-hours people boogey, you know!

I wanna hang awhile, where the light's really low!

I whisper to my baby, and we're takin' it slow!

And baby if you're ready, then I'm ready to BLOW!

Baby, know I'm really getting' in the mood!

>In the mood!

The joint is jumpin'!

>In the groove!

We're on to somethin'!

>In the mood!

The band is pumpin'!

SWINGING, AND A-SWAYING AND ROCK N' ROLLIN'!

>Come on, now!

We're gonna party!

>I know how!

Yeeeeah, to get it started!

>In the mood!

I'm good to boogey!

PLAY THAT JIVIN' MUSIC, NOW!"


End file.
